


Safe and Sound

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birdwatching, Fluff, M/M, the others are there too they're just not in the forefront
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: Two boys save an injured, bird, and then slowly fall in love.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2020 and I have simply not let them go yet, huh? Well, it's finally mainfested into something, so I hope y'all like it! (Side note: they're like 16 in this and the clown stuff never happened cause that's gross. Also whenever there's a dash when Bill's talking y'all get to imagine a stutter there.)

Stan was barely out of Derry when he saw it, just a little blur in his periphery, punctured with the sharp chirping of a bird. A baby bird, they sounded different when they were younger. He pulled over to the side of the road, kicking the stand down on his bike, and followed the chirps to the base of a tree. There in the grass was a baby bird. He couldn’t quite tell at this age, but he thought it was a finch. The bird was featherless which meant it was too young to learn how to fly. It must have fallen out of its nest. Stan glanced up the tree to find it, noticing the nest tucked neatly into the branches a fair way up the tree.

Dropping to his knees, Stan knew that all it would take would be for him to climb the tree and put the bird back in its nest. That was something he could do, then he noticed that the finch didn’t seem to be ok. As it tried to stand up, it couldn’t quite manage it, one leg curling in towards itself. _Could be broken_ , he thought.

He scooped the bird up in his hands, being careful not to hurt it as he did so. The bird was still chirping, which must have been a good sign, even if he could still hear its pain.

Stan had to help it. 

***

Bill pulled his front door open to an incredibly distressed Stan, and couldn’t help the wave or hurt and panic that fell over him at the sight. Stan was talking, too quickly, words jumbling together as he tried to explain why he was there. Bill only managed to catch about half of it, but then he noticed the tiny bird in Stan’s hands, and it started to click. 

“It’s injured,” Stan managed, his voice higher than usual. “Can we - do you think we can help it?”

He stepped aside to let Stan in, grateful that his parents weren’t home. Truly, Bill had no idea how to help an injured bird, but he was sure he could figure it out. There was no way he could even consider saying no to Stan, especially when he was like this. 

“I need a box,” Stan said. “I shouldn’t have brought it here like this, but I didn’t have another way to carry it.”

The two of them headed for Bill’s living room. Bill found a box, tipping out the few things that were in it - a few packs of cards and dice, things from when his family used to actually play board games together. 

“I have to keep it warm,” Stan was saying. “It doesn’t have feathers if it gets too cold it’ll -”

“It’s - ok,” Bill muttered. He placed the box down on the coffee table and squeezed Stan’s shoulder gently. “I’ll get a - blanket. You stay here and keep holding it, that’ll - help.”

Stan nodded, seemingly grateful for the direction. 

Bill had just managed to find a blanket when he heard Stan call out, “Bill! It’s bleeding!” He circled back to the kitchen, pouring water into a cup and bringing that with him. Bill put the cup down on the table, pulling a box of tissues closer to him and then folded the blanket up so it was small enough to line the box. 

“Stan, it’s ok,” he said again, keeping his voice level. Stan’s breathing was too quick, he was practically shaking with panic at this point.

“I didn’t see the blood before, I don’t know why I didn’t.” Stan placed the bird in the box gently. 

Bill tapped his knee, as if to tell him everything was still ok, and then snatched up a tissue and dipped it into the water. “There’s a - lamp on the end table,” he said. “It should be able to reach over - here.”

As Stan set up the lamp so it would keep the baby bird warm, Bill took a deep breath and pressed the tissue against the bird as lightly as he could. Fortunately it didn’t take long to stop the bleeding, the cut mustn’t have been very deep. That had to be a good thing considering how small the bird was. 

“Bill, I think its leg is broken. When it tried to stand up, it wobbled and that usually means -”

He thought that over, trying to think of a solution. “So we need a - splint then,” he muttered.

“Do you think that would work?” 

“If we can make one - small enough.”

Stan nodded, taking a deep breath. He was starting to calm down now, no longer shaking his breath evening out again. Bill was grateful for that. “I don’t know if we can make a splint that small. We’d need … wood chips or something, but … pointy? I guess?”

It went quiet, the two of them trying to figure out what they could use. Then, a thought occurred to Bill. “Stan, in the den on the - table there should be a - box like this one, but with a - lid. Can you - get it for me?”

The box was home to the mixture of supplies he and Georgie had to make model ships, which included tiny pieces of wood. If Bill managed to cut one the right length surely they could use that. Stan came back with the box, and Bill instructed him to keep an eye on the bird as he grabbed what he needed out of it. 

“Is that too - big?” he asked, holding up a piece of wood. It was slim, but sturdy.

Stan glanced up at him, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know?” 

Making the splint was the easy part, figuring out how they were going to strap it to the bird’s leg without hurting it was harder. Somehow, the two of them managed it, and hoped they’d done the right thing.

“It’ll be ok now, right?” Stan asked. The bird still wobbled, just slightly, but it seemed steadier than it had been when he’d found it.

Bill nodded. “Do you remember where the - nest is?”

“Just outside of Derry. I didn’t make it very far.”

“Let’s take it home.”

***

Stan wasn’t sure how he remembered the exact tree that the bird had fallen from, but it must have stuck with him. He pulled up next to it, Bill doing the same, and glanced up the tree. Somehow, it was a lot taller than he remembered, and he hadn’t scaled a tree in a while.

“Did you - want me to do it?” Bill asked.

“I can do it,” he said. He _needed_ to do it. 

“Be - careful.”

Climbing a tree was a lot more difficult when he had to keep a baby bird steady, but it brought back memories of when he was younger. Richie would always race him, he was a much faster climber than Stan was. Maybe he just needed to be as brave as Richie was, just this once. 

As soon as he reached the nest, Stan steadied himself against the branch. There were other birds, he realised, the bird they’d helped had siblings, chirping away in the nest. It warmed Stan’s heart as he gently placed the bird back home. 

“Don’t fall out again,” he said to it. He took a deep breath, and made the mistake of looking down.

He was pretty high up, and his vision blurred for just a second until it focused on Bill. Bill who was smiling up at him, Stan gave him a thumbs up, and tried to think how the hell he was going to get back down. He couldn’t remember this part.

“Are you ok?” Bill called.

“I need a minute,” Stan muttered, and then louder so that Bill could hear him. 

Stan told himself he was not stuck, and after a few deep breaths, he had the courage to move again. Best to do so now before the mother bird came back, that wouldn’t go so well. He made his way back down the tree, slower this time, and grateful that he could use both his hands effectively. It was easier than he thought it would be. 

As soon as Stan had both feet on the ground he made his way over to Bill, pulling him into a hug. Bill wrapped his arms around him in return, said something along the lines of “You’re - ok.”

“Thank you,” he replied, pulling away again. “For helping.”

Bill smiled at him, nodding. The two of them picked up their discarded bikes, and started walking back down the road, pushing their bikes next to them. Neither of them questioned it, Stan just needed to be on the ground for a bit. 

“Maybe I can - come with you - sometimes,” Bill said, only glancing at Stan for a second, before focusing again on the road. 

Stan looked over at him. “Bird watching?” he asked. 

“If this - happens again we both - know what to do,” he explained, words falling over each other more than usual. 

_He’s nervous_ , Stan realised. Bill must have been worried about intruding, because bird watching was Stan’s time to himself, away from all the others. Stan couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than having Bill with him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the thought. 

“I don’t mind,” he said. “Even if you only want to come sometimes.”

***

‘Sometimes’ became almost every Saturday morning. The two of them got up early, Bill earlier still so he could ride to Stan’s before they headed off together. Stan explained he liked to get as far out of Derry as possible before the sun had properly risen in the sky. Birds were always the most active at sunrise, he’d explained. Bill didn’t mind as long as he got to spend the time with Stan. It was peaceful, the two of them, in the grass after trekking up the side of a small hill, dragging their bikes along next to them. 

Always worried about disturbing Stan while he was doing his favourite hobby in the world, Bill kept himself busy, bringing something with him each time so he would have something to do. A novel that Ben or Mike had been hassling him to read, homework that he’d been putting off, a song that Beverly and Richie needed him to go over. Occasionally be brought along his careful packed kit of wood pieces, paints and glue, so he could build Georgie a new model ship. 

Stan often asked him what he was working on, wanting to hear about whatever story ideas Bill had lately. Their voices blended into the fresh air around them as Bill carefully relayed whatever was currently on his mind. He had no idea why Stan seemed to like his ideas so much, but talking through them made the ideas make sense, and making Stan laugh or smile at them gave Bill the courage to properly start writing them down. 

If it wasn’t his notebook, then Bill would bring his sketchbook. At first, he started with his surroundings, pages filling up with drawings of trees, and birds from the book that Stan occasionally brought with him. Then after two months something shifted. Bill barely registered it, but he started sketching Stan. Light, soft lines, that could never do him justice, but Bill managed it as Stan talked absently about the birds he was able to see, binoculars constant in his hands. 

Bill didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about what it meant. About the feeling he got as he sped his bike down the street towards Stan’s house on Saturdays, the excitement bubbling within him. He didn’t think about _why_ he’d started drawing Stan, just that he much preferred it to drawing anything else. Beverly was the one who’d told him, because of course she was. Sitting on Bill’s desk in his room, holding up one of his sketchbooks, one almost entirely filled with drawings of Stan. 

“See?” she’d said. “I’m right. Eddie, tell him I’m right.”

Eddie had rolled his eyes, said something about the fact that no one had accused her of being wrong. 

It made sense, Bill thought, for him to love Stan. He just had no idea what to do with that. Especially here, in Derry, of all places. No wonder Eddie and Richie never did anything about …

***

Stan could tell when Bill was sketching him. At least, he managed to figure it out. He was far more secretive with his sketchbook when he was, always angled away from Stan so that he couldn’t glance at what Bill was drawing. He wasn’t sure why Bill would draw him, or what it meant (if it meant anything), and he wasn’t sure why the fact that Bill _did_ draw him turned Stan’s stomach into knots. Richie had told him to ask Bill about it, directly. Richie had told him that he needed to make a move. Stan had crossed his arms over his chest and told him to take his own advice. But now he was starting to think that Richie was right. 

It wouldn’t hurt, right? If Bill didn’t want to answer then he didn’t have to. Stan just really wanted to know what was going on in his head. He liked knowing Bill’s thoughts far too much. Beverly and Mike had teased him about it, jokingly. 

“What are you drawing?” Stan asked, and held his breath to see what Bill would say in response. 

Bill floundered for a moment, he seemed shocked that Stan would ask (which made the smallest hint of panic nestle within in), before tilting the book just enough that Stan could see soft, detailed curls. He must have spent ages on Stan’s hair alone. His heart stuttered in his chest. 

The answer sounded like a defence, like Bill’s actions needed to be justified. Something about how the lighting was particularly good that day, and he was so tired of drawing trees, and birds weren’t on his mind right now. Stan swallowed because maybe that meant that _he_ was on Bill’s mind. Just the thought of that made him light headed. Did Bill …? _Could_ Bill …?

“I don’t mind,” Stan said, cutting off Bill’s stumbly response. 

Bill smiled at him. There was something in his eyes that Stan hadn’t seen before. 

_Make a move_ , Richie’s voice in his mind repeated. Stan moved closer to Bill, just a little, to see how he’d react. Bill looked about as nervous as Stan felt, if not more, and it was such an uncommon look for him that it gave Stan pause.

Then he was reaching out, resting his hand on top of Bill’s in the grass and barely breathing. “I don’t know how to say it,” he admitted, and was relieved that Bill seems to know exactly what he meant, exactly what Stan was trying to tell him. 

“Does it - scare you?” he asked. 

Stan shook his head. “Not you, or this. Just -” he flung his free hand out, as if to indicate everywhere around them: Derry. 

Bill nodded. “Me too,” he muttered. Then he shifted, taking Stan’s hand in his and holding on it, as if the gesture alone could say everything that he needed to. He shuffled closer, placing his sketchbook to the side so they could sit next to each other. 

Squeezing Bill’s hand, Stan tried to think of something to say. They couldn’t leave it here, not really. 

After a moment, Bill lifted Stan’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the back of it. Whatever sense Stan had left flew away as he did so. “What was - weird?” he asked, his nerves slipping into his tone now. 

He shook his head. “No, not at all.”

A smile, a _relieved_ smile. 

Stan thought he could see it somewhere in Bill’s eyes, because the gesture had been a segway, a suggestion. It was Bill’s way of saying that he wanted to kiss him without knowing how to ask for it yet. His mind went into overdrive just at the thought. _Ask me, ask me, ask me._

“Stan -”

“Yes,” he replied, before Bill could even finish the question. 

Bill looked at him for a moment longer, inexplicable wonder in his gaze that Stan couldn’t even begin to process. Then he was leaning in, a hand reaching up to cup Stan’s cheek, gentle but not nearly as sure of himself as he usually was. There was something about the nervous sharp intake of breath, the way Bill’s thumb stroked Stan’s cheek as he closed the gap between them, that almost drove Stan crazy. 

Then Bill was kissing him and Stan couldn’t fathom anything else outside of this. He reached for Bill’s plaid shirt, tugging gently, needing him so much closer. Bill compiled, hooking his free arm around Stan and shifting him closer still. Stan shuddered at the amount of contact, and Bill pulled away, worry in his eyes already. 

“No, it’s fine,” Stan muttered. “You’re just … so much all at once.”

Bill’s brow furrowed as he tried to think of what to say to that, the word ‘sorry’ halfway to his lips. 

Stan laughed and shook his head. “Are you ok?” he asked, his free hand making its way to Bill’s shoulder, thumb resting against his neck. 

He nodded, a smile starting to light up his face. “I don’t - have words for this.”

“You’re a writer,” he teased.

“I couldn’t do you justice if I tried.” 

No stutter, and still that look in his eyes, as if Stan was the best thing he’d ever seen. Stan was kissing him again before he could even process it, a hand sliding into Bill’s hair. He decided then and there that if he could live in one moment for the rest of his life, it would be this one.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over at [stranger-awakening](http://stranger-awakening.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc, are appreciated :)


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